Physics and the Doctor
by Julia Caesaris
Summary: The Doctor, for reasons best known only to him, feels the need to carry out physics experiments. River gets recruited to help. NOTE: An ongoing series of one-shots with no particular continuity or restrictions. Rating may change later.


**A/N: Okay, so. The backstory. I'm in college. I have a roommate. My roommate has a physics class. The physics class has homework. The homework has bizarre questions, like the velocity of a falling flowerpot. My roommate, amused by these questions, reads them to me. And then the plot bunnies begin to breed.**

**Question: I don't remember exactly, but it involved someone dropping a flowerpot out a window, and you "happening to have" a device that can measure velocity.**

**Timing: After "The Wedding of River Song" for both of them, and at some point when the Doctor's travelling alone.**

**Warnings: None. Utter, shameless fluff, really.**

* * *

"Please?"

"No." She turns away, not wanting to look at those big green eyes.

"Pretty please?"

As adorable as it is to hear him beg, she's not interested. "Still no."

"I've got to test this!"

She shoots him a glance over her shoulder. "No you don't." Her hand rests on a lever on the TARDIS console.

He pouts. "But I've already got the rooms all checked out and everything. Checked in?" He pauses, having managed to muddle another Earth phrase by accident.

"You check _into_ hotel rooms when you arrive, you check _out_ of them when you leave. But if you're looking for a specific place, you check it out."

He deflates. "Oh. But, _River._"

This time she turns to look at him, giving him a raised eyebrow. "How old are you, twelve?"

This gets a wince. "It'll be quick!"

_God_ but he's whiney when he doesn't get his way. She knows this, of course, but it's still annoying. What they _both_ know is that she can never resist him for long. "Fine," she says, smiling at him. "What do you want me to do?"

"You're _amazing_, you know that?" He looks like he wants to jump over and snog her, but has enough control – for once – to recognize that would quickly lead to getting nothing done.

She nods. "I know," she tells him smugly. "Doctor – what do you want?"

He straightens, brown hair flicking into his eyes. "Oh – right. Um – your – your thingy. I need you to take your – whatever it is and measure a thingy for me."

"It has a _name, _you know," she says, pulling the device out of her pocket. Laughing, she grabs his hand, pulling him out of the TARDIS into an entryway. "You parked the TARDIS in the reception hall?"

He flails limbs, stumbling after her. "Nobody cares, River."

She laughs again. "What room?"

"Rooms," he corrects.

She raises an eyebrow, pulling him over to the lifts. "Two? Doctor, what are you up to?"

He's _way_ too good at the innocent face for her emotional stability. "Me?" He casually leans on the call button for the lift.

"You," she responds, looping her arm around his as the lift arrives. "What floor?"

He spins around, hands in the air. "Um –"

"You forgot."

Again with the innocent face. "Did not. It – it's seven. And eight!"

Pushing the buttons, she turns to face him, crossing her arms across her chest. "Alright, Doctor. What's going on?"

"I – It's very important, okay?" He leans against the wall of the lift, falsely casual.

She gives him a look. "Sweetie."

He looks like he can't decide whether to make a face or grin. "There – there's been interesting readings coming out of this hotel. I just need to check something, and then we can go – wherever. So– yeah. Room 725. Take your thingy and – and just be ready. By the window. I – I'll be on the floor above."

She's still not sure this is a good idea - mostly because it's one of _his_ plans, and those never work out – but he wants her to do this, so she will. Shaking her head, she walks out of the lift on the seventh floor, down the hall to room 725. Behind her, he waves as the doors close.

The room is plain and simple, with a double bed. She opens the window quickly, pulling out her scanner. Then she waits a minute, and then, because he's uncoordinated and probably dropped the key card at least once, another. Poking her head out the window, she yells, "You up there yet?"

"Yeah. Get your head in, River!"

She does, with a sigh, and makes sure her scanner is ready. For _what_ she's not sure, but it's ready.

Then she sees a flowerpot fall past the window.

She almost swears, or laughs, because it's just so _him_. She just barely manages to hit the button before it falls past, the scanner beeping steadily. When she hears the flowerpot shatter on the pavement below, she sticks her head out the window again. "You. Get down here."

His head, brown hair all over the place, appears above hers. "Yeah. Be right down." Then, to her astonishment – though she really shouldn't be, because _really_, this is just like him – he opens the window still _wider_ and climbs out.

He can be coordinated when he wants to be – it appears to be directly proportional to how badly he needs it – which means she doesn't need to worry – much – about him falling to his death-or-serious-injury on the pavement. She backs away from the window and waits by the bed.

One leg appears in her window first, then an arm, his other leg, and his head. At which point he lets go with the wrong hand and tumbles into the room, limbs _everywhere_. "Ow," he says, looking up pitifully.

"Yeah, ow," she tells him, like she's talking to a small animal. "What were you _thinking_?"

He stands up, arms going in directions that should be anatomically impossible, grinning broadly. "Me?"

She crosses her arms, not willing to give into his face until she's got some answers. "You. Tell me, Doctor, just one thing – why did you throw a _flowerpot_ out a window?"

He looks down, crossing and uncrossing his legs and almost falling over because of it. "I thought it would be funny."

"You thought –" There is literally _nothing_ she can say to this, it will not make sense in her brain. This man – this otherwise perfectly intelligent man – threw a flowerpot out a window because it would amuse him. There was something very, very worrying about this.

"And," he shuffles his feet, "I wanted to see if it would think 'Oh no, not again.'"

She has to mouth these words several times before they'll make sense. "It's – you – I can't –" Giving up on speech, she focuses on snogging him. _Thoroughly_.

"Oh," he says when she gives him a chance. "I should do that more often, then."


End file.
